


awake from a dream into a nightmare

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Clothed Sex, Cock Warming, Collars, Conditioning, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Feminization, Forced Feminization, Frottage, Kinda?, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Obsessed Voldemort, Oral Sex, Panties, Parseltongue Kink, Rough Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, Tied up Harry, Top Tom Riddle, Top Voldemort (Harry Potter), dubcon, harry is conditioned into loving tom, harry on a leash, masturbation with panties, parseltongue sends harry into subspace, porn with a little plot, voldemort wants him as consort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 11:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15484431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "A sharp cry wrenched from his throat as his brain caught up. It had been a year since Voldemort had won, since he had failed to die in the forbidden forest and had instead been locked up in this cold manor.It had been four months since Voldemort had regained his youthful visage and two months since he had begun to fuck Harry whenever and wherever he wanted - his obsession finally extending to the most perverse level."





	awake from a dream into a nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miraculous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miraculous/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [醒入梦魇（翻译）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16737763) by [summerkiss4869](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerkiss4869/pseuds/summerkiss4869)



Harry chuckled, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth while placing the wine glass down with the other. The bustling the restaurant created a relaxed atmosphere as he listened to Hermione.

“And then she had the audacity to say I was in the wrong,” Hermione continued, her own wine glass clenched tightly in one fist, the fork piled with pasta hovering in the air in the other while she recounted her latest tale of ministry incompetence.

“She always was a bitch though you have to admit,” Ron interjected between mouthfuls of his own meal. “Ron!” Hermione said, ready to tell him off before Harry added “Just because she is doesn’t mean you should say it.”

This earned him a smack on the shoulder from Hermione as they both laughed, increasingly aggravated by the two men who never seemed to learn their manners.

She pursed her lips, before joining in on the laughter. Harry loved seeing his friends laugh, especially after what they had been through.

Harry felt like he was going to burst from the happiness surrounding him. Here he was sat with his greatest friends in the world, the engagement ring sitting on his finger - he couldn’t wait to marry Ginny - and Voldemort had been dead 5 short years.

“So anything funny happen to you today,” Harry asked Ron, who took a sip of his beer.

But before Ron opened his mouth, Hermione suddenly grabbed his arm, looking at him sadly she said, “You have to wake up now Harry.”  
His hand came up to cover hers.

“What do you mean?” he asked urgently, confused at the sudden turn of events. Around him the environment seemed to drain away, the lights dimming and the people around them were suddenly muted.

“He’s back,” Hermione said, her voice seeming far away as he became more and more conscious.

* * *

Harry jolted awake, as he felt a pain from behind. He tiredly tried to pick himself up from the position he was in, but soon realised his arms were bound with manacles to the bedposts. A soft grunt from behind him made him instantly more aware.

He yelled out in pain as he felt the person enter him roughly. The sound of a belt buckle and the press of cloth against his back told him whoever it was hadn’t even undressed himself before getting behind him.

Struggling weakly against the bonds that held him, he finally heard the man speak, “Still fighting Potter?”

Recognizing the rich tone of Tom Riddle he started fighting even harder at the chains holding him, the sleep finally draining away from him, as he became more alert to his situation.

A sharp cry wrenched from his throat as his brain caught up. It had been a year since Voldemort had won, since he had failed to die in the Forbidden Forest and had instead been locked up in this cold manor.

It had been four months since Voldemort had regained his youthful visage and two months since he had begun to fuck Harry whenever and wherever he wanted - his obsession finally extending to the most perverse level.

He could hear the pleased moans behind him as Voldemort continued to thrust into him, his hands clenched around Harry’s thin hips.

“You clench so nice and tight around me when you struggle,” Voldemort groaned, hips thrusting faster, the smack of skin against skin echoing in the room. Harry starting crying in earnest, fat wet tears rolling down his cheeks.

Voldemort ignored his crying, keeping up a litany of filthy talk, that poured from his lips.

“I know you like my fat cock in you Potter, love how it fills you up like no one else can.”

“You’re so tight around me, your hole knows it is just mine to use.”

“Filthy fucking slut, waiting all day for my cock to be in you.”

Harry burnt with shame, as the repeated deep and long thrusts into his hole, the reoccuring nudge to his prostate, sent licks of pleasure through his body - he didn’t want to be aroused by this, didn’t want to feel pleasure.

Voldemort began mouthing along the line of his neck, making Harry try to jerk his head to and fro to disallow him from marking the pale flesh there. He was already covered in an array of dark and light hickies, old and new from the new routine of daily sex he was put through.

The man on top of him growled, as he released his hands from Harry’s waist, instead bringing them to press down on Harry’s head, pushing him into the soft mattress. His thrusts became harder and faster, punishing Harry for even trying to stop him.

“I am your lord and master, your creator, I do whatever I want to you,” he proclaimed into Harry’s ear.

Harry whimpered, the pressure on his head unbearable. He wanted this over with, and started clenching his arse, tightening around Voldemort, trying to get him off like a tormented wife trying to please her husband.

Voldemort let out a series of moans above him, his hips stuttering, his cock stopped just before pulling out, coming inside Harry before extracting his cock completely. He sat back on his legs to watch in satisfaction as thick globules of come trailed its way down the back of Harry’s pale thigh.

The Dark Lord affectionately pressed a kiss to the smooth skin of Harry’s buttocks. Harry jerked forward in disgust, hating the feel of the man’s lips anywhere against him.  
Voldemort smacked him once, with the wide palm of his hand. Harry clenched his teeth at the pain, tensing the muscles there. Again, in an affectionate gesture, Voldemort kissed the skin there once more - this time Harry gritted his teeth and let him do it.

Swinging one leg after the other off the bed, Voldemort stood up, tucking his cock back into his trousers and zipping himself back up. He walked over to a table by the wall that held a crystal decanter of firewhiskey and two glasses. Pouring himself a glass, he leant back against the table, gazing appraisingly at the fucked out form of his Horcrux.  
“You know I would let you out of this room, you just have to become my Consort,” Voldemort said, taking one sip of the burning alcohol. “I would treat you like the prince you are,” he continued, coming to the side of the bed and squatting there.

Harry turned his face away, not wanting to look at the charismatic face of Tom Riddle, while he said such honeyed, tempting words.  
“I will never be your Consort,” Harry croaked, his voice rough and even to his ears, weak.

Voldemort clicked his tongue as he brought himself to sit beside Harry’s head on the bed, running his fingers through his hair. “Harry, my Harry, I always get what I want in the end,” Voldemort said, sighing as he felt the touch-starved man push his head ever so slightly back into the hand that was petting it. He took another sip from his glass.  
Harry didn’t speak, but his mouth formed the words, ‘I know.’

* * *

The next Harry saw Voldemort, he was shaken gently from his dream about playing Exploding Snap at Christmas at The Burrow. He had been surrounded by the warmth of the Weasley family, Molly fussing over him, while the Twins joked and he and Ginny had shared secret glances.

But once more, it was just a dream - he awoke to reality, to Voldemort unbuckling the manacles around his hands and feet, and instead slipping around his neck, the collar that Harry hated the most.

Voldemort on the other hand loved it. “You look so beautiful in this,” the Dark Lord has said, running his finger under the cool black leather ring, right across the width of Harry’s neck. It was decorated, of course, in snakes, tangled around one another around the collar.

“I’ve taken you out of the bed today because I need a cockwarmer,” Voldemort told a tired Harry who took the opportunity of having the freedom of his hands to wipe away the sleep in his eyes.

He was pulled along with the length of a long silver chain, out of the bedroom, and into the winding corridors lit by beeswax candles - the sweet scent filled the air. As he was dragged to Voldemort’s study, he scanned every inch of the place, trying to think of any attempts of escape he could try.

He cast a furtive glance to the tall, black robe clad back of the Dark Lord, who had clenched in his right hand, the notorious yew wand. Harry knew that the Dark Lord still did not trust him enough to relax around him while he was yanked to a second location.

Harry had wondered why the Dark Lord didn’t just apparate, but he knew the answer was probably some sadistic parade of Harry’s naked body through the long halls of the manor they lived in.

At last, he was pulled into Voldemort’s messy study. Bookcases covered the walls, all filled to the brim, and more books were stacked on the floor, on the settees and armchairs, interspersed with sheaves of papers and parchments.

Voldemort quickly brought him over to the desk, where he sat down, undoing the clasp of his robes and his trousers, pulling out his half-hard cock. Harry knelt between his spread legs, glaring up at the Dark Lord. Voldemort chuckled, cupping Harry’s chin with one hand.

“Still such fire,” he commented, “they didn’t make Gryffindors like you in my day.”

Harry swallowed the tip of his cock, not wanting to listen to any more of Voldemort’s sanctimonious comments. A small push to the back of his head, made him take in more. He didn’t move his head, or even his tongue, but sat with the heavy weight of Voldemort’s cock in his mouth as said man did paperwork.

Time sluggishly ticked on, Harry’s knees getting sore from where he was sat, his mouth aching from being full, salvia escaping from the edges of his mouth and sliding down his chin and his chest.

Harry’s eyes were clenched close, echoing his hands that lay in his lap. He tried not to think about the situation he was in, tried to focus on anything else. But once more, he felt the loathsome burning of arousal as he tasted Voldemort’s cock on his tongue, smelt the husky scent of the Dark Lord, and most of all felt the scandalous nature of this position. His hands twitched as he fought the urge to touch himself, not wanting to give in to his urges or acknowledge the pleasure he was getting from this humiliating experience.

Instead, he focused on the scratch of Voldemort’s quill, the crackle of the fire, and the rustling of parchment as the Dark Lord shuffled his paperwork. Harry was lulled into a shallow sleep, still aware of his surroundings but felt as peaceful as he could for his situation. He barely registered when Voldemort finally pulled his cock out from his mouth, his jaw aching, and his eyes looking up at Voldemort blearily and sleepily.

Voldemort patted the side of his cheek, “Look at you, in bliss from having my cock in your mouth.”

That snapped Harry out of the daze he was in, and he scowled at Voldemort. “Fuck you,” he spat at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Harry by his armpits, dragging him up roughly and spinning him around to press him against the heavy wooden desk. A quickly whispered spell, and Harry felt the familiar wetness of conjured lube spill out of him. Two fingers were thrust quickly inside. He thrashed about on the desk, knocking trinkets and a creepy framed picture of him off the side, he hears the smash of glass as it lands. Voldemort withdraws his fingers to quickly grab his hands, pinning them to his back in a tight grip with one hand while the other went back to playing with Harry's lubed hole.

Harry next tried to kick at the man, aiming to knock him down. He stopped when he heard Voldemort say to him, "If you struggle any more I will leave here and kill another person who is close to you."

Harry closed his eyes as he thought about those people precious to him that were still out there, under Voldemort's reign. Even those who fought back in rebel groups were for the most part ignored by Voldemort, whose obsession with Harry meant he was eager to please him in any way - including the occasional mercy. In his mind's eye, he saw the flaming locks of Ginny, the constellation of freckles on Ron's face, the way Hermione's eyes sparkled when she began explaining a complicated piece of magic. He saw them dead, their eyes lifeless, as they lay on the ground like collapsed dolls.

He quietly spread his legs more, a silent show of complicitness to Voldemort's threat. Voldemort slowly let go of his hands, and Harry brought them up to cling to the edge of the desk in front of him, clutching tightly around the varnished wood. Voldemort made a pleased sound, stroking the length of his back like he was a disobedient cat and not a reluctant sex-slave.

"If only you would realise that being good for me is much better," Voldemort lamented as he slid his fingers down the curve of his buttocks, before slipping them back into Harry. Harry rolled his eyes, laying his head on the desk and trying to tune out what was happening. Voldemort on the other hand was trying his best to wring out any noises he could from Harry, twisting and stretching his fingers, pushing on the small clump of nerves he knew would be sending sparks of pleasure through Harry's body. He twistedly smiled whenever he heard the soft whimpers and moans of the boy underneath him, speeding up and slowing down in intervals, wanting to make Harry beg for any pleasure that he was receiving.

When Voldemort finally felt Harry rocking back onto his fingers, giving into the pleasure despite his earlier struggle, Voldemort stilled his fingers and watched in delight as Harry didn't seem to notice, fucking himself back onto the fingers in turn. The Dark Lord added another finger into Harry, stretching him even further. Harry was moving moe vigorously, spearing himself onto the larger number of fingers. Finally, Voldemort withdrew them, casting the lubing spell once more, giving Harry another load of slippery slick that coated his hole and dripped down his behind. Voldemort stroked himself, smearing the precome that had gathered on the head of his hard cock, down the length of his member.  
Harry moaned as he felt the blunt head of the cock push against him. He was too deep in his bliss to register what was going on, to remember who was doing what to him. He moaned louder this time as Voldemort breached him. 

Voldemort moaned along with Harry as he slid deep into the burning heat of his horcrux. Deep in his chest he felt a feeling of completeness and warmth in his chest. Pressing his clothed back against Harry's naked one, he pressed himself as close as he could to the younger boy, as if he wanted to merge the both of them together, clashing their atoms together until they were one. His hips gave quick thrusts as he pummelled Harry into the desk.

The Dark Lord's hot breath tickled Harry's neck as he desperately held onto Harry, fucking into him with the appetite of a starving man. In his ear, Harry could hear another recital of bedroom talk - but this time it took on an almost reverent and possessive tone, that even in his fucked out state, deeply disturbed him.

"Mine, all mine, my previous Horcrux, made to be mine, born for me and me alone"

"Never leave me, stay with me always, be by my side, let me in you all the time, never parted"

"Want to be in you always and forever, mine to fuck and hold and bend"

The Dark Lord slipped into parseltongue, the hissing sounds making Harry fall into a dazed space of mind. He answered back, calling to the Dark Lord in parseltongue also, telling him how good he felt, to finish in him, confirming he was his. Harry hated it when the Dark Lord inevitably slipped into the snake's language, as something in Harry always answered, his mind slipping into a state of complete submission, unable to do anything but want to please the man inside him.

Harry was once more spilled into, once more since he had been brought to this manor and since he had become the Dark Lord's favourite bed partner. Voldemort's hands roamed his body, stroking and petting everywhere he could as he praised Harry for being a good boy. Slowly as if coming out of being hypnotised, Harry realised what happened and the feeling of disgust slammed into his stomach, bile rising in his throat as he remembered how not even moments earlier he had called back to Voldemort, how he had even for the briefest moment enjoyed what had happened between the two of them.

* * *

After that, Voldemort had been 'pleased' by his performance, and when he was deposited back into his room, or his cage as he called it in his head. There he sat morosely gazing out of the window, the rain pummelling the window panes, the sky dark and grey.

He was treated to some presents for being a good boy - books, desserts and most disturbingly feminine clothes. A set of soft cotton panties, all in silver and green, and several slips along with different styles of collars. Was this his life? To be dressed up like a doll, positioned however Voldemort wanted and fucked?

WIth no other options, and not wanting to stay naked as he had been for most of the duration of the last two months, he slipped into the soft knickers. He tried to push out of his mind the thoughts of how soft and comfortable they were, and especially tried to ignore the traitorous thoughts of what Voldemort would look like when he saw Harry in them.  
The equally soft full slip, also triggered uncomfortable thoughts that Harry tried to distract from by reading. He adamantly refused to put any of the collars on, leaving them on the table next to the decanter of firewhiskey that was spelled to only allow Voldemort to pour from it.

It laying on his stomach on the bed, reading one of the beds and swinging his legs that Voldemort found him. He must have come straight to Harry from the ministry, the pristine robes over a tailored three-piece suit making him cut a dashing figure when Harry really wished it wouldn't. The Dark Lord sucked in a breath when he saw that Harry had chosen to wear the feminine clothes he had supplied. He had hoped Harry would, but had thought that Harry wouldn't put them on in defiance.

"Oh, Harry," he breathed, making Harry roll onto his side to look back at him in surprise, not realising he had come back, "You look ravishing, my dear."

Voldemort stalked forward, dropping the briefcase he held in one hand to the floor. Harry scrambled back in the bed until he sat against the headboard. The Dark Lord lunged forward, grabbing one of his ankle, dragging him over to lay right under him. Harry tried kicking with his other leg to, but that was captured also.

"Come now, Harry," Voldemort said in parseltongue, a wicked glint in his eyes that made Harry realised that he had remembered what happened last time he had spoken in the snake's language, "be a good boy for your Lord, won't you."

Harry's body became pliant and he stopped struggling as parseltongue sent him into that daze again. His head felt cloudy, and when Voldemort spread his legs, he easily let him and even held them in place when he let go.

"That's it," Voldemort cooed, his eyes lit with happiness at the sight of Harry's submission at the sound of his ancestral language, "you like it when I talk to you like this, don't you."

Harry nodded, falling deeper and deeper into the comforting haze as Voldemort continued to speak to him in parseltongue.  
"This is going to make my life so much easier," Voldemort said, running his hands along the spread legs of the boy under him, caressing the creamy skin, inching higher and higher until he was at the hem of the slip. He pushed it upwards, eyes soaking in the sight of Harry's semi-hard cock encased in the soft cotton fabric of the panties. Voldemort trailed one finger up the hardening length, bending his head to kiss it once.

Harry whimpered at this, the feel of hands on him and the kiss to his thickening cock, encouraging it to become fully hard. He sat up, grasping at Voldemort's neck to tug him closer and kiss him. The Dark Lord climbed onto the bed, framing Harry's smaller body with his larger one. The younger boy lazily thrusted up to meet the rough texture of Voldemort's crotch, rutting leisurely against the Dark Lord. Voldemort was astounded by the transformation of the fighting Gryffindor into this meek pleasure-seeking boy just at the sound of parseltongue. But he eagerly took advantage of it, devouring his mouth in long and heady kisses, eagerly rocking his own hips back into Harry, luxuriating in the friction and pleasure of having an eager bedmate at last.

Harry moaned into his mouth as his thrusts became more desperate, his fingers clinging desperately onto the thick woollen fabric of his robes. He broke the kiss between the two wizards, as he threw his head back. Voldemort watched enraptured at the pleasure etched on Harry's face as he enthusiastically rubbed himself against the Dark Lord.  
As Harry came down from his high, the Dark Lord saw the spark coming back into his eyes, recognised that Harry was slowly coming back to himself and started rapidly praising him in parseltongue, hoping to keep him compliant. It worked, and as the stream of parseltongue continued, Harry was more and more eager to let Voldemort do whatever he wanted to him.

By the time Voldemort had sated himself on Harry's body, he had made several mental notes about how to make Harry compliant. Harry was lying completely fucked out and tired on the bed as Voldemort rose to walk out. Pausing halfway to the door, he found Harry's panties that he had came into earlier, before Voldemort had slid them off and flung them behind him. He quickly cast a glance at Harry, who was dozing and bent over to put them in his pocket. 

Later on after he had completed some paperwork and was enjoying some firewhiskey in front of a roaring fire, he pulled them back out, recalling how Harry had looked in them. Feeling himself harden, he pulled his cock out from his trousers, wrapping Harry's panties around them and masturbated with them. He closed his eyes, as his hand worked his length, imagining Harry was here in front of him, so eager to get him off. He gave a sharp gasp as he came into the soft fabric, his hips jerking from the orgasm as he gave some low moans.

He tucked himself back into his trousers and vanished the knickers. Before he left for his cold bed, one that he hoped would be filled by Harry as his consort soon, he wrote a checklist of more clothes to get Harry, underlining knickers several times.

* * *

Every session that followed, Voldemort spoke only in parseltongue and over time Harry was conditioned, he came to associate it more and more with pleasure, becoming aroused when he heard Voldemort speak it. His other defences were wearing down, the lack of company with only Voldemort to talk to made him more and more eager to see him. He would chastise himself for perking up when he saw Voldemort come into the room, but as time went on he would more and more forget to remind himself exactly what the situation was here.

And over time he enjoyed more and more luxuries as Voldemort became increasingly pleased at his behaviour. A small voice in his head, kept telling him that he should be good for Voldemort, he should be very difficult, yelling and fighting and causing a mess. But this was instantly quieted when he received his next gift, heard Voldemort talking in the snake's language the next time, or whenever he was filled with the Dark Lord, being brought pleasure that he had never had before.

He went on his knees more enthusiastically, opening his mouth promptly to receive Voldemort's cock. He dressed up for him, wearing the collars that he had dismissed beforehand, loving the way Voldemort would tug on it when he fucked him from behind. As time went on Harry changed more and more, ardently servicing the Dark Lord.  
Now whenever they finished, he would happily cuddle up to the Dark Lord, head resting on his chest, arm wrapped around his waist. Voldemort even started taking him out, walking along with him the gardens, telling him about the ministry and what legislation he was putting through and who had defied the three-line whip this time.

They would go to a private beach, where Harry could play in the waves while Tom sat in the shade. They went to Diagon Alley in disguise, Tom buying Harry whatever he wanted, including the newest broom. And soon, whenever Tom told him of how he had first fought him whenever they tried to make love, Harry laughed incredulously. Why had he ever fought the man that had loved him so?

Tom took him with him on official ministry trips, smirking whenever people gawked in amazement at the sight of the Chosen One, sitting by his side so complacent and happy. He enjoyed how people's eyes widen whenever Harry would reach up to kiss him on the cheek, or easily accept an arm wrapped around his waist.  
And a couple of years after Tom had first made his offer of Consort to Harry, it was accepted by Harry, who cried with happiness and didn’t turn his face away to block out those honeyed words.

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as just a oneshot of Harry waking up from a dream of his ideal life, a picture perfect ending to realise Voldemort was still alive, and very much still invested in him.
> 
> However it sort of spiralled from there?
> 
> Next thing you know, I've written out some weird story where, Harry falls slowly under Voldemort's control who loves fucking Harry whenever he has the chance.
> 
> Anyway, if you did enjoy this mess, please leave a kudos and a comment, feel free to even recommend ideas on what I should write next.


End file.
